Please, Remember to Recycle
by TylaraRemember
Summary: [Oneshot] We all know the story of how the first Companions came to be, at least from the Baron's viewpoint. But what was it like for the one who did all the work? Reviews welcome! Disclaimer: I own nothing.


**Please—Remember to Recycle**

I was a relatively young goddess when I created the Companions.

It was in one of those little upstart kingdoms, well, maybe it was a barony. At any rate, it was ruled by a fellow known as Baron Valdemar. He was really quite insistent, calling on each of my cousins, my uncles and aunts, my parents, everyone I know.

Well, being as they were established gods, with vassals and realms looking to them, with mortal affairs to guide and divine court dates to be kept and other important godly obligations to look after, everyone else was busy.

I, of course, was not.

I hovered in a little wisp of cloud, looking down on the poor guy. He seemed pretty desperate.

"And I call on ye, goddess of the hearth and home, and ye, god of the rains…."

He wanted, it would seem, a way to keep his little niche safe. And the people in it. A noble enough goal, but seriously, when you're a goddess, you meet an awful lot of people with noble intentions.

What really caught my attention was his horse.

It was a pretty creature, a very pale grey, slender, with long legs and a high, arching crest. It looked very intelligent…for a horse.

"And ye, god of the west wind, brother of horses…"

That was what did it.

I spent a couple millennia working out the details. Fortunately, being a goddess and all, I can make time run at different paces for different people.

I guess mortals count as people. _Little_ people.

First on the list was the four-hoofed element.

_White_ horses, I decided. Well actually, that might be too much trouble. White horses are pretty hard to find. So, I figured, any color horses, and give them magic so they bleach themselves out and make themselves uniform!

Horses weren't all that common in the Divine Realms in those days. After my great-uncle Poseidon created them, somebody or other took offense and kicked them down into the mortal world. Zeus maybe? But anyways, I knew Poseidon had one of them.

My cousin, Arion. A talking horse. How much more perfect could it get? He could have been made for my purpose!

When I arrived at Poseidon's own private undersea domicile, which only takes up roughly seven eighths of the habitable undersea expanse and thus is really arguably quite modest in size, I did make an effort to be polite. I was there to ask for a favor, after all.

But I mean, seriously. Cat fish? Who could resist?

My uncle is rather partial to talking animals. As I walked through the entranceway, I was bombarded by a swimming flurry of fur and tails, complete with fins and purrs. I may have assisted one small one, white with red points, into my pocket to play with later.

Who would have thought someone else had already got dibbs on it? Some big fancy guy, goes by Vikandis. He got a bit huffy when _his_ cat fish turned up in my pocket.

Anyways, it's not exactly a glorious and exalted part of the story, and it doesn't show my supreme brilliance in the best light. So to summarize, there was some chasing, some shouting, some damning-for-all-eternity, some returning of misplaced property, and then I vamoosed, having traded the pretty kitty for the loan of a horse.

Eventually, I figured someone would notice Arion was missing. So, with that in mind, I went to the library and made a few photocopies of Arion. I pushed the buttons on the copier: Three dimensions. In color. Standard-issue magical powers. Scaled to fit human riders.

I decided to pay a little surprise visit to my second cousin once removed, in his hallowed empire. The Shadow-Lover, he styled himself in those days. I thought it seemed a bit macabre, but then, at least it's easy to pronounce.

I'm not even going to try and _spell_ my name.

You could say he's a collector of sorts. He collects what's left when mortals die. Not the icky squishy parts, those stay in the ground. He takes the rest of it.

Shady was not exactly happy to see me. Not much seems to cheer him up—kind of a gloomy job, you know? Anyways, he wasn't real welcoming, and when I asked to borrow a few souls, he became almost hostile. Maybe I caught him at a bad time, I seem to remember a couple of wars, maybe a revolution going on back then.

"After I spend my days harvesting them, slaving for the good of all the worlds, you think you can just mince in here and destroy the fruits of my labors?"

Honestly, nobody trusts the young.

I promised up and down, front and back, sideways, that I wouldn't do any soul-squishing. I would keep them as whole as possible, and try to keep the wear-and-tear to the absolute minimum.

In the end, it came down to barter.

"I'll give you half the mortals killed in my name or by my vassals for the next thirty millennia."

"Three quarters, forty millennia."

"That's not fair! I'll be old by then! I won't want souls to play with any more!"

May I mention, again, I was _very_ young.

"All right, half and forty, final offer. I'll even let you have first pick."

It was pretty generous of him, considering that I didn't have any vassals and that nobody knows my name. Even if they did, they wouldn't be able to pronounce it.

Then again, it's not like I was getting a permanent hold on those souls. After a blink of an immortal eye, they all loose the squishy bits and revert back to Shady's precious Vault anyways.

Then, I had to explain that I only wanted souls who could be counted on to help others before themselves. In case you're wondering, it's not a very common trait. And you can't just ask them—there are more souls who'll lie about it than camels that can fit through the eyes of needles.

Just to clarify, immortal needles are quite large. And camels are kind of tiny.

This may be why they gave me such a godawful name. I don't talk in straight lines, I meander. Like a brook. Or a river. And people could fall in and drown. Especially mortals, though I don't think water bothers souls much. Just lungs.

Anyways, when I pointed out to Cousin Shadow that I'd need some way to hang on to my souls, he was pretty amused. I guess since I hadn't put that in the original deal, it wasn't an issue.

This is where the goddess thing comes in handy again. Big, sad weepy eyes. Boys are suckers for them.

Eventually, he gave me his portable, travel-sized Vault of Souls. It holds two thousand if they're small, but I wanted good, large souls for my new kingdom.

When I pointed out that I'd only be able to store a few souls, not hardly enough to protect a kingdom, Shadow was less than sympathetic. Oh well, I knew I'd come up with something.

I set up shop in a little territory right next to the Shadow Lover's domain. I stretched my porta-Vault out to its fullest capacity, then started decorating. Fog. For some reason ole Shady likes fog, maybe it makes him feel mysterious. But I wanted my Soul Depot to blend in with his. Don't know why, nobody remembers it by the next time round anyways.

I conducted interviews for a few millennia, till I had a good double handful of generous souls hanging out in my Vault. Then I picked three, stuffed them into the photocopies of Arion, and went back to my little wisp of cloud hovering above Baron Valdemar.

It went pretty well. The Baron, his son, and the next person who happened past—the Baron's herald—each attached a magic white horse to be his lifelong companion. They looked deep into beautiful blue eyes. They were happy. You know how it goes.

Now all that was left was to make sure there were enough souls to fill my pretty white Companions, and the Heralds who rode them.

I made a sign. On my porta-Vault. It says, "Recycle Bin."

Just as one of my souls leaves the mortal world behind, as they're entering my shadowland, it reads:

**Please Remember to Recycle on Your Way Out.**


End file.
